


How the Other Survives

by tuesdaymidnight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, rated m for dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-23
Updated: 2010-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:46:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2669201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymidnight/pseuds/tuesdaymidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the war, Harry remains haunted by the last line of the fabled prophecy. Why does Draco Malfoy seem to be the only one who understands?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the Other Survives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnTheTurningAway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheTurningAway/gifts).



_...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..._

"Harry?" Hermione asked cautiously.

Harry didn't respond. His eyes seemed transfixed on something out the window, but when Hermione moved behind him to look, she couldn't see anything of particular interest. Instead, she placed her hand softly on his shoulder.

Only then did Harry turn to look at his friend, startled by her presence.

"Hi, 'Mione," he responded, his voice rough, as if he hadn't used it in days.

Harry had left his Floo open to the Network, but the wards around 12 Grimmauld Place only recognized the magical signatures of Order members. Well, what members of the Order still remained after the tragic Battle of Hogwarts. No one else could step through the Floo, and other than Hermione and George Weasley, no one had tried in weeks. The only time Harry left was to visit his godson at Andromeda's home, and once a week for an awkward Sunday dinner at the Burrow.

The Weasleys had always been the closest thing he had to a family, but since that fateful day, his relationship with them had been strained.

After the Battle, as everyone grieved, it was somehow easy for Harry to let himself get lost in the mix. Even though he had fulfilled the prophecy and ended the war, the scene at Hogwarts that day was far from celebratory. Luna created a distraction, and no one noticed as he slipped away with Ron and Hermione. After explaining to them what happened in the woods, paying respects to Dumbledore and returning the Elder Wand, Harry insisted that Ron and Hermione rejoin the rest of the Weasleys.

The traumatic chain of events and the loss of a son and brother was something that they needed to deal with as a family.

Even the Malfoys clung together on the floor of the Great Hall, feeling their way out of the crushing emotional weight that Voldemort's influence had been holding over them. The other bodies of the fallen were being tended to by McGonagall, Slughorn and the other survivors. The wards had been lowered and family members were starting to apparate in, loved ones reuniting.

With all that Harry had gone through, he found he had a hard time relating to anyone else in the aftermath, even the Weasleys. He was still an outsider. He had begun to feel it after Sirius died. Though, he became more acutely aware of it when he traveled to the Cave of the Inferi with Dumbledore, but it was likely that his feelings of isolation went all the way back to the first time he faced Voldemort. His childhood with the Dursleys cemented a lifelong craving for solitude.

As he watched the scene unfold after the battle, it struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Everyone had someone.

Harry had the wisps of four ghosts in the woods and one at King's Cross Station.

He quietly slipped away, feeling suffocated by the grounds of Hogwarts, and performed a series of apparitions back to Grimmauld Place.

The wizarding world gave him the space he didn't know he wanted or needed – for about 24 hours. Then, suddenly, there they were. Reporters and Ministry officials, even Kingsley Shacklebolt himself, all faces appearing in the fire at Grimmauld Place. Of course, there were Weasleys, too, and Hermione, and Harry let them pass through his wards. Andromeda Tonks even came over with Teddy.

It was Teddy Lupin who kept Harry from completely self-destructing.

Despite his feelings of loneliness that were near crippling at times, Harry took the role of godfather seriously. It was his fond but too few memories of Sirius that Harry held with him, which encouraged him to cling to normalcy as best he could. Harry truly wanted to watch Teddy grow up and be a part of his life. But, Harry couldn't care for an infant and didn't want him to be separated from his grandmother, so he only saw Teddy two or three times a week.

Unfortunately, there were a lot of unused hours between those visits with his godson.

"There's an event, Harry," Hermione's voice broke Harry's train of thought. "The re-opening of Hogwarts. Of course, students won't attend until next month, but they're having a banquet there both as a fundraiser and as a celebration of sorts, to show that strength still exists in the wizarding world."

She sounded to Harry as if she were reading a description off an advertisement.

Harry sighed at his best friend, "And, you think I'm to go?"

"You're still a symbol of hope," she responded quietly.

"Hope for what, 'Mione? It's a victory if I get out of bed in the morning."

"I know," she said with a pat to his arm. "You're trying Harry, and all I ask is that you keep trying – if not for yourself, for Teddy."

She threw out the ace.

Harry bit back a retort that would have devolved into an argument. Hermione was a big proponent of the idea of "moving forward," but the more she spoke of it, the more to Harry it sounded like she was spouting cliches. Then again, she had dreams and aspirations that Harry didn't possess. Voldemort's death took with it Harry's purpose for living the last 15 years of his life. He had toyed with the idea of becoming an Auror, of marrying Ginny, of having children, but with the way he felt now, those dreams all seemed childish and far away from the reality he currently knew.

"What day, what time, and do I have to wear dress robes?" Harry resigned.

"This Saturday afternoon starting at 4. It won't be formal. There will be games and such for the younger children before the banquet."

Harry nodded.

"It's good of you to come, Harry, really." Hermione gave his arm another squeeze.

Harry's eyes began to lose focus, so Hermione changed the subject and began to prattle on about nothing in particular. They chatted for awhile. Well, mostly Hermione chatted and Harry tried not to be exhausted, but eventually Hermione had to leave.

She stood up, and Harry walked with her toward the fireplace.

Before she grabbed the powder needed to travel, she spoke as if she remembered it as an afterthought, "Ron sends his love."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, you know he does. He just finds it hard to be around you when you're like this, so despondent, I mean, like a shell. He's trying to be strong for George and his mother and Ginny. It's just too much for him to handle. He has the emotional IQ of a kneazle sometimes, but he is growing up in strides."

"I know, Hermione. I wouldn't want to be around me, either."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said sympathetically. "Ginny sends her love, too."

"I wish it could be different," Harry responded.

"I know," Hermione said softly. "I think Ginny understands that."

"She was a comfort to me and a dream to hold onto. It helped carry me through, but it was just fantasy – for both of us."

Hermione nodded, gave Harry one last hug, and vanished in the Floo.

That night Harry woke up in a cold sweat. He cast a _Lumos_ in order to read his clock and found it was 3 o'clock in the morning. He knew he could either toss and turn in the sheets until it was a reasonable time to get up and ask Kreacher to bring him tea, or he could just get up now and entertain himself with the creaks and cracks the old Black ancestral home made under the cover of darkness.

He shoved the covers aside and wordlessly lit his lamp.

He padded over to the desk he had moved into the room for this very purpose and sat down in the old leather chair. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back and unfocused his eyes, the yellowed wallpaper providing a nice blurry canvas for his racing mind.

His friends often caught him staring off into nothing this way. Hermione thought he was brooding, and the first times she caught him, she had tried to shake him out of it. Once, she was so concerned she resorted to hexing him. Now, she just looked at him with sympathetic eyes and waited for the mood to pass.

The truth was he wasn't brooding, not really. He was thinking. He was thinking about eighteen words that had haunted him since that night in the Department of Ministries.

_...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..._

The prophecy had been fulfilled. Harry knew that – rationally he knew it – but the words still haunted him and kept him awake at night.

In his less lucid moments, he considered going to Mistress Trelawny and asking her – nay, shaking her – until another prophecy spewed from her lips.

The prophecy may have been fulfilled, but for Harry, it wasn't complete.

"What happens to the other if he does survive?" Harry whispered to the still, musty air of the Black house. As he stirred out of his trance, the rising sun began to peak through the window.

He was still thinking about the prophecy as he put on his robe and slippers and headed down to the kitchen.

Kreacher was used to his master's insomnia and had tea and toast ready for Harry in mere moments. Harry thanked Kreacher and slumped down at the table, fingering the sheet of paper in his pocket with the words scratched on it.

It was George he had spoken to about the prophecy the most. Though it wasn't the same thing, George, too, had lost someone who was in many ways split from the same soul. He came over frequently, when Mrs. Weasley grew too over-bearing, or when his siblings got too sympathetic or not sympathetic enough, or when he wanted to avoid reminders of Fred. He was always welcome at Grimmauld Place.

They often didn't talk much. Sometimes they just sat in silence and sipped firewhiskey. While George tried to reconcile the fact that his partner in crime was gone, Harry attempted to reconcile the fact that he himself was still here.

One evening, George caught Harry staring at the scrap of paper that was currently being caressed by Harry's tired fingers. Harry had been sitting much like he was now at the kitchen table, transfigured to seat four, reading the words to himself. He hadn't heard the roar of the Floo.

"What do you have there, mate?" George had broken Harry's trance.

Harry almost tried to hide the paper, but then he gave in and wordlessly shoved it toward George.

"Tea?"

"Thanks."

Harry didn't bother calling Kreacher, instead getting up to brew the tea himself. He dug in the cupboards for a tin of biscuits while George read the prophecy that Harry had scribbled on a piece of parchment that day after the last Battle.

"Why-?" George began.

"It never said that one of us _had_ to survive."

"Harry."

Harry raised a hand to stop George.

"I'm not going to off myself, if that's what you're thinking. I won't lie and say I haven't thought about it, but I think I would have done it already if I was going to."

"Comforting," George replied with a hint of the trademark Weasley smirk.

Harry shrugged.

"Why _do_ we keep going?" he asked the lone twin.

George's partial smile faded at the question. Harry knew that George had considered on more than one occasion that it would have been easier had both twins lost their lives. However, regretting and feeling guilty for being alive was much different from wanting to be dead.

Finally, George spoke softly, "Because, Fred would have kept going."

Harry nodded, but the sentiment wasn't enough for him. He stared into his teacup, as if looking for an answer before responding.

"Is that all that motivates you?"

George appeared for a second if he was going to concede, but he finally shook his head.

"No, I have to try for mum's sake. I have to try to find something that can fill the hole."

Harry nodded sadly because he knew what George meant; he just couldn't offer any help.

"It's different for me, you know. You lost a part of yourself that you wanted. I was forced into a relationship with a madman when I was turned into a Horcrux. Now that he's dead, it's a loss I feel, but a loss I wanted, of course. Even though I don't miss that piece of Voldemort inside me, I still feel empty, like I'm less than a full person."

George didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything for a long while, letting the silence fill the kitchen.

Harry liked that about George.

"What are you trying to do to fill it?" George finally asked.

Harry shrugged.

"There's nothing left for me to do."

"Do you really feel that way?" George asked, his voice holding none of the frustration Harry often heard in Hermione's.

Other than taking care of his godson on occasion and providing a haven for the broken Weasley twin, there really wasn't anything else Harry felt capable of doing.

"Yes," he responded simply.

George made no motion to disagree.

Harry wasn't always so hopeless, but on that day, he just couldn't hide the darkness that threatened his heart.

The Saturday of the Hogwarts Re-Opening Ceremony, Hermione arrived early at Grimmauld Place to make sure Harry was up and around. Since agreeing to attend, Harry had tried to put on a happier face for the rest of the week. He spoke to McGonagall via owl and had begrudgingly agreed to say a few words at the banquet. He had even humored a good-natured George by trying to come up with ways to sabotage the broom races being hosted for the children. On good days, George would talk of re-opening Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and despite his misgivings about his own life, Harry had always tried to be encouraging of the idea. Harry simply didn't have the cleverness or sense of humor that Fred had possessed and felt he never really helped come up with any usable ideas. Regardless, Harry was able to feed a little off George's strained, but mostly good mood.

Another thing that cheered Harry was the fact that Andromeda would be at the banquet with Teddy.

Harry decided to wear simple robes, and Hermione did nothing to contradict his choice, nor did she scold him for not trying to tame his hair. She knew that she was getting a victory in Harry's agreeing to come at all. Since watching her friend begin to self-destruct, she took what she could from the small victories and hoped they would start to happen more frequently.

Hermione accompanied Harry on the trip to Hogwarts, but as soon as they arrived, Ron joined them. Ron gave Hermione a quick kiss, then he turned to Harry.

"Hi, mate," Ron said, giving Harry a pat on the back.

Harry smiled back and tried not to make it look forced. "Hi, Ron. It's good to see you!"

Ron seemed to accept the feigned brightness in Harry's voice, though, and went on to start a frivolous conversation about the Chudley Cannons' prospects this season. Even Harry had to admit to himself that sometimes it was nice to engage in such light conversation.

Eventually, the analysis of Quidditch ran its course, and the friends both wracked their brains for safe topics. Finding none, Harry took it upon himself to stroll around the grounds, and Hermione and Ron contented themselves to remain nearby on Harry's self-guided tour.

It wasn't that Ron was completely incapable of having a serious conversation with Harry; rather, it was that all of Harry's recent experiences dredged up memories for Ron he didn't want to deal with in addition to reconciling the loss of his older brother. Seeing Harry look less like the boy he befriended when he was 11 and more like the young man at the center of the war that changed his family irrevocably was hard for him to bear. Harry understood that, though sometimes he naively wished things could go back to the way they were.

Hogwarts looked very much like it did before the Battle. Even though it had been only months since it had been ravaged by destruction, for some reason, it all looked much smaller to Harry than it ever had. Even the castle itself loomed less impressively. It was much the same feeling as looking at Dumbledore and seeing a dying old man instead one of the most powerful wizards of his time.

There were children playing on the grounds, and Harry felt a familiar pang when he realized he didn't recognize any of the games they were engaged in. He wondered if he would ever truly get over his unconventional childhood. Teddy, it seemed, was his best chance to live vicariously.

It was Teddy's arrival with Andromeda that helped pull Harry out of the mood into which he was in danger of falling. He took the sleepy infant from his grandmother's arms and cradled him against his shoulder, bouncing as he walked, making the baby gurgle against him.

Hermione chatted with Andromeda for a few minutes as Ron went to greet Neville, who had just arrived.

"How's he doing?" the elder woman asked, referring to Harry.

"When I see him with your grandson, it gives me hope" was Hermione's reply.

"They do seem to make each other happy. I'm glad Teddy will grow up with a strong male influence," Andromeda's voice broke slightly, and Hermione raised a hand to pat her arm.

"How are you doing otherwise?" the younger woman asked quietly.

"I take it day by day. The one good thing about all of this, other than Teddy, is that Cissy has made an effort to reconcile our differences."

"That's wonderful."

"In the end, she realized the important blood is the blood that unites family, regardless of its purity."

Hermione nodded sadly in acknowledgment, biting back a comment about the timeliness of Narcissa's realization. It was Mrs. Malfoy's actions that allowed Harry to prevail, however, so even Hermione couldn't villainize her anymore. She was still wary to be in the presence of Lucius, however, and she wondered if he would make an appearance today.

"And, my nephew," Andromeda interrupted Hermione's thoughts. "He has been a dear around Teddy."

"Draco?" Hermione couldn't help but ask with surprise.

"The war changed him, too. I haven't spoken to him about it much, but sometimes he seems rather haunted by it. I think the strength of his family is helping him. He has a lot more of Cissy's compassion in him than he ever let on."

Harry and Teddy approached them then, and Hermione let the matter drop.

"It's about time for the banquet; I'm sure McGonagall would like to see you before hand."

Harry nodded and handed his godson back to Andromeda. He gave Teddy one last smile before his expression became solemn once more.

The two friends made their way to the front doors, which were propped open, and entered the Great Hall. Harry braced himself for the onslaught of memories that he was sure would crash down on him.

"Harry Potter!" McGonagall's clear voice rang out, snapping Harry to attention.

He looked around for the first time, and saw that although the Hall looked very much the same as it had when he was a student, there were a few changes, most remarkably was that the four long tables marking the four houses were gone. In their place were smaller, round tables, draped in white cloths, and each adorned with a small centerpiece made of four miniature banners resembling those of each house.

Harry wondered if it was a permanent change, or simply done for the banquet.

He had no time to consider it, as the new Headmaster stood before him. She held out her hand and Harry shook it, grateful she didn't pull him into another awkward hug.

"I'm pleased you were able to attend, Mr. Potter."

"It took some convincing on Hermione's part, Prof- er, Headmaster."

"I know you've shied away from the press, which is likely well-advised, but I do think your presence here is important, and of course, always welcome. You'll sit at the head table during the banquet. I can arrange for Miss Granger to sit with you if you'd like."

Harry's mouth was dry, but he nodded.

"That'd be nice, thank you."

Harry let himself be dragged through the halls of his old school and listened to McGonagall explain the changes and improvements to the building. She and Hermione spoke amicably, and Harry played along, dreading for the conversation to turn to the fate of his abruptly ended education. He knew Hermione and Ron had been granted special permission to sit for their N.E.W.T.s, and though that same privilege had been extended to all the displaced seventh years who had their education disrupted the previous year, Harry had yet to take them up on their offer.

Ron was planning on attending Auror training, and Hermione had her eyes set on some position in the Ministry. If anyone was going to change the world for the better, it was Hermione, Harry often thought. His own role of savior had been played, however, and he just didn't have the strength to think about anything beyond it.

Eventually, the banquet began, and Harry took his place at the head table. He didn't feel any more uncomfortable than usual, having so many eyes on him. At this point, he accepted that people would gawk but never really see him. He looked out into the crowd and saw all the survivors of the Battle. His heart warmed a little at the idea that they were all coming together and not letting themselves be defeated. It was the first time he realized, despite the lives lost, Voldemort truly didn't win. His eyes immediately found the Weasleys, and he smiled sadly at Ginny when she looked up at him. She returned his gaze with a smile of her own, but it was full of pity, making Harry's smile fade.

Then, he searched for Andromeda and Teddy, who were surprisingly not sitting with the red-headed family. Eventually he found them, sitting at a table with three shocks of blond hair. Harry knew Andromeda and her sister had tentatively reconciled, and the new-found affection between them was genuine. Blocking out thoughts of Lucius, from his perch, Harry took the time to study the young man sitting to Andromeda's right.

Draco looked different than Harry remembered. With his face no longer twisted in a fixed sneer, he looked less pointy, less cruel. His gray eyes seemed brighter somehow, as if no longer troubled by other people's plans and expectations.

Suddenly, those eyes looked up and trained directly on Harry's. Harry audibly gasped in shock for a moment and flushed, embarrassed at being caught staring, but Draco merely gave him a small nod and turned back to respond to something his aunt had said.

McGonagall's voice booming through the Hall broke out, silencing the crowd and putting an end to Harry's people watching, as the roomful of wizards turned toward the long table at the front.

McGonagall opened her speech with a few words of welcome and gratitude. Then, she launched into an impassioned explanation of Hogwarts' plans for the future and the dissolution of house rivalry. Students would still be placed into houses, as before, but they would be encouraged to comingle with peers in other houses. It was obvious, then, that the setup in the Great Hall was not incidental, and Harry idly wondered how different his time at the school would have been without so much emphasis on Griffyndor pride and Slytherin rivalry. McGonagall's speech turned then to the war and the losses suffered, ending with words of hope that their memories would live on, and before Harry knew it, she was introducing him by name.

He had known it was coming, but it still made Harry's stomach churn and his heart race. Hermione squeezed his hand in reassurance before he stood. He tried to straighten his robes to make them look less rumpled as he stood, but it was hopeless.

So, he just stood up straight and looked out into the cheering crowd. People were raising their glasses to him and he could merely offer a wave in response.

"Would you like to say a few words, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked, quieting the room with her amplified voice.

"No, no, I wouldn't," Harry replied, with a chuckle. "But, I will."

The crowd grew even more hushed as Harry took the few steps to the center of the table where the Headmaster stood.

He glanced over at Hermione who nodded in encouragement, then he looked up over the heads of the crowd, focusing his eyes on the back wall of the Hall.

He cleared his throat.

"Until I turned 11 years old, my childhood was a bit – unconventional, even for Muggle standards," he chuckled nervously. The people in the room who knew about the cupboard under the stairs looked back with pity. Harry refrained from rolling his eyes at them in a gesture that would have been misunderstood and continued his speech. "Hogwarts was the first place that ever felt like home to me. For better or for worse, I grew up between these walls. Despite what happened here this past May, I hope it can continue to feel like home for generations of wizards to come. The rebuilding has been remarkable, and I'm sure it will be a great comfort to all of us, knowing that the Hogwarts Express will be making its annual journey next month."

He rubbed his right hand behind his neck.

"Um, that's all I have to say. Thank you."

He knew it didn't exactly fulfill the expectations of the people who had come mostly to see him and was less than quotable to the reporters attendance, but it was the best he could do. Not to mention, he didn't even want to do it in the first place.

Despite its brevity, the crowd still cheered at his words; though, the enthusiasm bounced off Harry without sinking in.

He sat back down at the head table as the food began to appear for everyone to enjoy, but it felt increasingly uncomfortable. He picked at his potatoes for a few minutes, but he could feel the walls closing in on him, threatening him with his inner voice of regret, telling him he didn't belong here at this celebration. So, he quickly and quietly excused himself.

Hermione gave him another infuriating small smile of understanding, and Harry did his best to slip out of the Hall unnoticed. He went outside, hoping the fresh air would make him feel less suffocated and more alive. He gulped the warm air gratefully as he sat down on the front steps, closing his eyes, feeling the sun on his face.

He willed away the unexplainable tears that were threatening to escape.

"Potter." A voice cut through Harry like a knife through a warm treacle tart.

"Malfoy," Harry replied as he turned to see Draco Malfoy standing behind him, cradling a fussing Teddy Lupin in his arms.

He had only spoken to Malfoy briefly once since the battle – in the court of the Wizengamot, where he and his parents offered Harry a few words of gratitude. The trials for the captured Death Eaters were held almost immediately after Voldemort's defeat, and Harry had been in court for many of them. He testified to the brave actions of Narcissa. The whole Malfoy family was absolved of wrong doing because of their obvious shift in loyalty in the end, though Harry thought perhaps Lucius should have suffered some consequence for his bad choices. Lucius spoke convincingly at his trial, and perhaps his guilt was genuine, which would be some consolation. Narcissa's action during the war had been revealed to a shocked crowd at the trial, but it had never come out what had actually happened to Harry.

It was better for everyone to think he had just feigned his death as strategy than to actually know the truth. Necromancy was a taboo art, and coming back from death seemed too much like it for comfort.

"Feels weird, doesn't it? Being back here," Draco said, bouncing his steps as Teddy seemed to settled down.

"Very weird," Harry murmured, not really knowing what to say to his, he supposed, former rival.

Teddy seemed to calm down, and Draco sat down tentatively on the same step as Harry. Harry reached out his hand to Teddy, and the baby cooed, grabbing his finger.

"My cousin has a strong grip," Draco acknowledged with a small smile down at the infant in his arms.

Harry nodded.

"I used him as an excuse to get out of there," the blond added.

"It was a bit too much for me," Harry admitted.

"Too many bad memories," Draco stated, but he titled his head as if questioning.

"That, and it just doesn't feel like I belong here anymore."

Draco nodded in understanding, "I know what you mean. So, you finishing your N.E.W.T.s?"

"No, not now anyway," Harry said quickly, not sure why he was telling this to Draco Malfoy of all people. Even Hermione thought Harry simply hadn't made up his mind. "You?"

Malfoy seemed slightly surprised at Harry's admission, but he didn't press the issue. "Yes, I'll be sitting for them later this summer."

"You'll do well, I'm sure."

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but it was interrupted by Teddy's wail. Draco attempted to soothe him, but the crying continued.

"I should go change him," Draco sighed.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine." Draco smiled again. "I'm going to take him to Aunt Andromeda so she can change him."

Harry smirked back as Draco stood, a warm feeling of familiarity seeping into him.

"I'm sure I'll see you around, Potter."

"See you," Harry said quietly, still in shock at having a civilized, almost pleasant conversation with the blond. Then, he remembered he had unfinished business with Draco.

"Actually, Malfoy," Harry called. Draco turned with a raised eyebrow of his own. "Would you mind coming to Grimmauld Place tomorrow? I have something to talk to you about."

If Draco understood the motive behind Harry's invitation, he made no sign of it. He simply asked, "What time?"

"Three?" Harry offered. "I'll have Kreacher make tea. I think it'd make him happy to serve someone who belongs there."

Draco stood still and studied Harry for a moment, his steel gray eyes piercing so deeply that Harry grew uncomfortable.

"I've been through too much to be having you on, Malfoy. We both have."

Draco finally acquiesced with a nod.

"Three then."

He turned with the still-wailing infant back to the front door.

"And, Malfoy!" Harry called once more, getting the words out before he regretted saying them. "You should smile more often."

Draco smiled one last time, but wordlessly turned into the castle.

Harry barely slept that night, which was nothing new. As the clocked ticked nearer to three, he questioned his sanity.

He knew that in the end, Draco had been on the side of the light. He had seen him on the Astronomy Tower that night. Through Voldemort's eyes he saw Draco being forced to torture; he saw the agony he went through. Draco Malfoy was many things, but a killer wasn't one of them.

That, at least, was something.

Not to mention, the way Draco had held Teddy, and the way he interacted with his parents and his aunt, showed a softer side to the young man Harry had never seen before. It was entirely possible that Draco Malfoy was just a victim of circumstance as much as he.

Even so, Harry informed Hermione that he invited Draco to tea, just in case something untoward happened.

Later in the morning, he adjusted the wards so Malfoy would be allowed to enter.

At precisely 3 o'clock, the Floo roared and Harry greeted Draco as he stepped calmly out of the fireplace.

"Malfoy," Harry said with a nod, extending his hand.

Draco looked down at Harry's hand thoughtfully, recollecting their first failed handshake. This time, though, it was up to him to accept, which he did.

"Potter," he nodded, grasping Harry's hand tightly.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, before Harry remembered he was the host of this encounter.

"Come, sit down. We'll have tea."

"Kreacher!" Harry called with a snap of his fingers.

Malfoy's face quirked, but before he could ask his question, Kreacher appeared.

"Master Malfoy," Kreacher bowed deeply, an action Harry had never seen him perform. "Kreacher is most pleased to serve you. How do you like your tea, sir?"

"With milk, thank you."

"And biscuits? Do you have a favorite?"

"Just bring a variety, Kreacher, thank you," Harry broke in.

With a glare at Harry, Kreacher popped out of the room.

"Granger lets you keep a house-elf?" Draco asked, as soon as Kreacher disapparated.

"Trust me, Kreacher doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do."

Draco snorted and looked around the room.

"I suppose you've never been here before?" Harry asked.

"Oh, when I was very young I can recall coming here to visit Great Aunt Walburga."

"I'm sure she'd be happy to see you," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.

"You have her portrait in here?" The incredulity was unmistakable in Draco's voice. Even though he was only five when the woman died, his vague memories of her were unpleasant.

"Permanent Sticking Charm. There's a curtain over her, and so long as I'm quiet on the stairs, she keeps her vitriol about my heritage to herself."

Draco shuddered. "That sounds about right."

"So, you don't need the tour?" Harry asked.

"Maybe some other time," Draco said appearing almost to fidget in anticipation.

At that moment, Kreacher reappeared with a tray of tea and biscuits, some of which Harry didn't even know were present in the house. Harry didn't say anything about it to Kreacher, though, instead offering his thanks and dismissing him after Draco assured the ancient house-elf he didn't require anything further.

Draco sat down in the chair Harry offered and immediately spoke.

"So what's this about, Potter?" It was still strange for Harry to hear the blond's voice not dripping in malice.

"Well, I guess I'll just come right out with it. Your wand, Malfoy."

Draco's mouth dropped open slightly, as if the subject of his wand was the last thing in the world he expected to come out of Harry's mouth.

"My wand?"

"I have it. I would have returned it immediately, but I just had to get out of there that day... and you were with your family... and I should have contacted you sooner, but..."

Draco held up a hand to stop Harry from rambling anymore.

"You have my wand," he said simply, turning the words over.

Harry nodded and rose, moving toward the hutch on the other side of the room. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a wooden box. He crossed the room and presented it to Draco, who hesitated before taking it in his hands. They shook as he fumbled with the clasp, but eventually he got the lid to swing off.

Setting the box on his lap, he pulled out his old possession.

"This disarmed The Dark L- Volde- Voldemort," eventually the name spilled out of Draco's lips as he shuddered.

"Yes," Harry whispered.

Draco turned the wand over in his hands. Despite the fact that it was his wand – 10" hawthorn with a unicorn hair core – the wand he'd use to hex Potter with so many times before, it felt like a foreign object to his touch.

After a few minutes, he put the wand back in the box and shoved it back toward Harry.

"I don't- I don't think I can keep it," Draco's voice was strained.

"Are you sure?" Harry's voice held surprise.

Draco swallowed and nodded.

"But- but what are you doing for a wand?"

"I assumed it had been destroyed. I went to Ollivander's and got a new one."

"Oh."

Harry took the box and set it aside. He understood why _he_ wouldn't have wanted to keep the wand, but he wondered if Draco's reasons were the same. For him, it was just one more reminder, one more relic, from a life that haunted Harry. Though Draco was obviously moving on with his life in a way that Harry couldn't, perhaps he wasn't so well-adjusted as he tried to appear.

"I'll probably take it to the Ministry. It should probably belong in a war museum or something," Harry mused. He wasn't sure that wizards even had museums, but it seemed like a legitimate possibility. The rest of the world needed the reminders that Harry carried always on his heart.

Draco seemed relieved at the suggestion, "Yes, I think that seems most appropriate."

He sipped his tea, and Harry took a moment to study him.

"Say, Malfoy? Why'd you think I was inviting you over?"

Draco blushed slightly.

"Well, I owe you a life debt."

"Malfoy, everyone owes me a life debt," Harry snorted.

"How can you be so flippant about it?" Malfoy stood, slowly transforming into the git Harry knew from school, not the subdued post-war version he had seen over the past 24 hours. "You never did understand wizarding traditions. A life debt is a sacred contract."

Harry turned, his eyes suddenly burning. He bit his lip. He wouldn't cry in front of Malfoy, but something about his response set off a reaction in Harry.

Startled by Harry's reaction, Draco brought a hand up to Harry's arm.

"I didn't mean to-" He looked genuinely confused as he spoke.

"No! It's okay," Harry insisted. "You don't know. No one knows. I shouldn't- I shouldn't be here."

"Potter, what are you on about?"

But, Harry didn't answer, he was back in an entranced state, staring into his tea cup as if it held answers to silent questions. He looked almost peaceful as he sat, but his eyes were anything but calm or empty.

"Potter?" Draco asked again, crouching beside the chair.

Harry didn't respond or even seem to be aware of Draco's presence.

Draco stood helpless for a few moments. He didn't know what to do. He was afraid of touching Harry in case this was the work of some spell, some catatonic curse or something. It was always better not to move victims, everyone knew that. He considered sending a stinging hex, but if Potter were under some sort of spell that, too, could interfere with it. There was something about Potter's reaction that made him consider the possibility that this wasn't the work of a curse or spell at all, but he didn't want to take any chances.

He did the only thing he could think of.

He Flooed Hermione.

It was Harry's face and not Draco's that she had expected to see in her fire, but she was civil to Draco and tried to calm him down. He seemed near panicking and insisted Hermione come through to take a look.

Hermione came into the drawing room and looked at Harry.

"Oh, he gets that way lately. I don't know where his thoughts go."

"What do you mean, Granger? Or is it Weasley now?"

"Still Granger," Hermione said wryly. "Harry has been a bit off kilter since the war – depressed, most definitely, probably some post-traumatic stress, as well. But, he also seems preoccupied with something, like there's some great puzzle in his head he needs to figure out. He lets it consume him sometimes. What were you talking about when it happened?"

"I was telling him how important the tradition of life debts are."

"Hmm..." Hermione mused. "From the Fiendfyre?"

Draco winced.

"Yes," he croaked.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said genuinely.

"It's- it's okay, Granger. The nightmares are getting less frequent."

Hermione wordlessly pulled Draco into a hug. He was startled at first but relaxed into it, feeling the comfort and grief and reconciliation behind the gesture.

When they pulled apart Draco spoke, "Granger, I really am sorry, for what happened- at- at the Manor when you-"

"I know. I know you were a victim in all of this too, Draco. You can't help who your family is."

Draco's pale skin grew blush, and Hermione realized the double meaning behind what she said. She opened her mouth to speak, but Draco interrupted.

"I'm sorry about _that_ , too, you know. It doesn't at all make up for it, I know, but I am sorry for calling you, well, you know. In your case, it was mostly jealousy. You always managed to get better marks than me."

Hermione chuckled a little as Draco continued.

"I still do worry about the fate of wizards and our traditions, and I don't think I'm wrong to want to continue and preserve our culture. But, I can see the complete and utter error of basing those beliefs on lineage."

"That's good of you, Draco. Apology accepted."

She reached out her hand and Draco shook it.

"You know, I think maybe it's possible that you and I could be friends, Draco Malfoy. I do understand the value of traditions, but that doesn't mean they can't be maintained in a more equitable way. Like your life debt with Harry, for instance, you're not going to be able to make it up to him in a conventional way because he's just not a conventional wizard."

They stood together in silence for a moment, both realizing they had been carrying on a conversation in front of Harry to which he made no response.

"He needs help," Draco whispered.

"I suppose if you could find a way to help him, that might appease the life debt."

"It's about more than the life debt, Granger. He doesn't even look alive anymore."

"I know," Hermione whispered, her voice breaking. Draco put his arm around her shoulders, and they stood together watching the fallen hero.

"I have to help him if I can," Draco whispered, even more faintly than before.

Hermione left his embrace and studied him curiously for a moment.

"Why do you care so much?"

"I don't know. I guess if this is what happens to heroes after they win, then what was all this for?"

Hermione nodded.

In the end, Hermione sat with Harry, and Draco left a note with her to give to him. Harry didn't seem surprised to see that Hermione, not Draco, was sitting across from him when he snapped out of his trance.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione. I heard you talking. I just- it was too much- it took too much effort to speak."

"It's okay, Harry. Draco left you this."

She handed Harry the note, which he unfolded, revealing the very precise script of Draco Malfoy:

_Thank you for the tea, Potter. I'd like to reciprocate next week, if you're willing. I'm inviting you to have lunch at the Manor next Thursday at noon._

_-Draco_

"He signed it Draco," Harry murmured.

He passed the note to Hermione so she could read it. Of course, she had already looked at its contents.

"Will you go?"

Harry considered it for a moment.

"You know, I think I will. I've spoken with him twice now, and I think he's changed, Hermione."

"I think he has, too," Hermione responded. "Or, maybe he finally feels like he's allowed to be himself."

"That could be," Harry mused. "Anyway, it didn't feel awkward around him the way it does with everyone else, or at least not awkward in the same way. Maybe because I never really knew him before – not as a person – it's easier to see him differently."

"Well, I think it's a nice gesture for him to invite you for lunch."

Harry looked at the note one more time.

"Would you accept an invitation to Malfoy Manor?"

Hermoine shuddered almost imperceptibly. "I would, Harry. It would be hard, I know, but I'm sure it feels different than it did during the war."

Harry nodded, and owled Malfoy back to accept the invitation.

The rest of the week was rough on Harry.

It was probably a result of being back at Hogwarts, but he spent a lot of the week in bed – not sleeping, but trying to avoid everything that resembled "moving forward." He finally told both Hermione and the Ministry official in charge of education that he would not be sitting for his N.E.W.T.s. The Ministry official told him that it wouldn't be necessary for him to take them to get a job in the Ministry. Apparently being "The Chosen One" had its perks, but Harry politely refused. He didn't know if he would ever be ready to work for the Ministry.

He couldn't even imagine being ready to leave the house without having to give himself a pep talk first.

When he did sleep, his nightmares were worse than usual. He often had dreams of the Battle, of the Fiendfyre, of the torture he had seen performed through his connection to Voldemort, but the dreams he had this week were almost exclusively dreams of death.

In one dream, he was back in the Room of Requirement, about to be consumed by Fiendfyre, only he didn't have his broom with him to escape. Ron and Hermione had managed to flee out the door, and Crabbe and Goyle disappeared, too. Harry was stuck, flailing his arms around, trying to shield his face from the heat. Through the flames he saw a blond figure doing the same. As he reached his arm through a wall of flames, he realized it was Draco Malfoy he was reaching for. Draco clutched Harry's arm and pulled him through the fire until they were standing together in the corner. The fire inched closer and closer to them, and the boys began to cling together helplessly pressing back into the corner. A sudden noise broke through above the crackling fire, and Harry looked up to see a large wooden beam from the ceiling about to crash upon them.

He awoke sweating and twisted in his sheets.

His dreams weren't all unpleasant, but the fact that he didn't find them so was probably the most disturbing thing about them. One night, he dreamed he was sitting in the Burrow for Sunday dinner. As he sat at the table, waiting for dinner to be served, he realized no one was talking to him. They were speaking about him, as if he weren't there in the room. In fact, they were speaking about him as if he was never coming back. It was only then that Harry realized he was dead.

He awoke in a cold sweat, but he was more alarmed at the fact that he wasn't freaked out.

In fact, in the dream once he realized he was dead, he was kind of relieved he didn't have to pretend anymore.

Needless to say, he got very little in the way of sleep.

He considered taking a pepper-up potion the morning before going to Malfoy Manner, but he couldn't bring himself to go to the apothecary. So, he was already weary as he shouted "Malfoy Manner" into the Floo.

He stumbled out of the fireplace and into an elegant sitting room.

Draco was standing by the windows with his arms behind his back.

He turned and seemed almost surprised to see Harry. Though, he moved toward him gracefully and extended his hand.

"Potter," he acknowledged.

"Malfoy," Harry responded, accepting his hand in the spirit of their new-found camaraderie.

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Well, you trusted me enough to come into my home. It only seems fair to extend the courtesy."

"Of course," Draco replied politely. "Well, Mother is likely waiting for us in the dining room. Father's not feeling well, so he won't be joining us."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief before realizing it was probably a terribly rude thing to do.

"I'm sorry he's unwell," he tried to cover for his faux pas.

"He's a bit of a baby when he's sick. It's probably nothing," Malfoy said with a chuckle.

Harry tried to take in the Manor as Draco lead him into the dining room. The building itself was huge, but it had an airy feeling to it that seemed to balance the opulence. There were vaulted ceilings throughout and wide hallways with marble floors. Vases and statues that probably cost more than a yearly Auror's salary sat in dust-free corners, and Harry wondered what it would have been like to grow up in a place like this.

Draco didn't offer any explanation of the rooms they passed by or the ornamentation, and Harry was somewhat grateful for it.

Eventually, they stopped and entered the dining room, or _a_ dining room, at least. Based on the size of the Manor, Harry believed there could have been more than one.

"Welcome, Harry," Narcissa rose gracefully and approached Harry in greeting. Harry gave a polite bow and placed a kiss on her extended hand.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Please sit," she responded, gesturing toward the table. The table was as large as the rest of the house, but three places were set at the end.

Harry walked around the table and sat down, while Draco pulled out the chair at the head of the table for his mother. Once she was seated, Draco took the remaining place.

With a snap of her fingers, a house-elf appeared carrying a tray with three salads.

"I thought we'd have a simple three courses," Narcissa said smoothly. "To keep things casual."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Mother," Draco said in what Harry would have considered a teasing tone if he hadn't been sitting at a table in Malfoy Manor. "Not everyone has five course meals on a regular basis."

"Of course," she said with a nod. "I don't mean to make you feel out of place, Harry."

"At this point, Mrs. Malfoy, I'm fairly adaptable."

"Call me 'Narcissa,' dear, you're practically family."

Harry coughed and briefly wondered if she was delusional.

"Because of your close relationship to my great nephew," she clarified.

"Right," Harry replied. "I know Andromeda has enjoyed reconnecting with you. I'm glad Teddy will grow up with a larger family."

"There is nothing more important to me than family," Narcissa replied with passion, lifting her hand to pat Draco's.

Draco smiled at his mother.

"I'm sorry your husband is feeling ill," Harry said politely.

"Oh, he's over-reacting, I'm sure," Narcissa said with a wave of her hand. "But, I do thank you for the concern. Honestly, I wasn't sure if you'd feel comfortable in his presence."

"As if bringing it up isn't just as uncomfortable. Sorry, Potter," Draco said with a roll of his eyes directed toward Harry in apology.

"It's okay, really," Harry said. "It might have been a bit awkward, but I don't fear him as I once did. I don't blame him for his actions during the war, per se, he just got caught up in something larger than himself."

"Well said, dear," Narcissa said quietly.

The three sat in silence as they finished their salads. Once they were done, another house-elf came in bringing the main course, which appeared to be Cornish game hen and braised root vegetables.

"So," Narcissa broke in, attempting conversation again. "What are your plans for the Fall? Will you be taking your N.E.W.T.s along with Draco?"

"Mother," Draco hissed. "Perhaps Harry doesn't want to talk about it."

"It's okay," Harry said as he sent a slight thank you nod to Draco. "No, Mrs. Mal- uh- Narcissa, I'm not taking my N.E.W.T.s. I was planning on taking some time off, I guess, to really figure out what I want to do."

"If anyone deserves time off, it's you."

Harry blushed and shifted in his seat.

"So, Malfoy, what N.E.W.T.s are you taking?" he asked to take the heat off himself.

Draco rattled off his plans for the exams while his mother beamed, and Harry only partly paid attention.

"What do you intend on doing afterward?" Harry asked, genuinely interested.

"Well," Draco hesitated. "I was thinking of working for a mastery in Potions or maybe applying for Unspeakable training. Father thinks I should go into Auror training, though I don't think I'm suited for it. I suppose I'm not really sure. It feels too soon to make that kind of decision, you know?"

Narcissa nodded.

"I have all the confidence that you will figure it out soon, son."

"Thank you, mother," Draco replied immediately, though it was obvious to Harry he wasn't convinced. Somehow, that made Harry feel better.

"Some people choose to focus on family first, before they settle into a career. Do you have any marriage prospects, Harry?"

Harry nearly choked on a pearl onion and grabbed his water glass.

Draco's eyes widened, and he grabbed his wand, but Harry waved his hand.

"I'm all right. I'm all right, thank you." He turned to Narcissa: "Your question just caught me off guard."

"Ah, my apologies, I forgot you didn't grow up in a traditional wizarding household. Perhaps it sounds old fashioned to speak of marriage at such a young age. I know even my son wants nothing to do with the witches I try to introduce him to."

Draco blushed and hissed a soft "mother" in Narcissa's direction.

Harry could see the obvious discomfort in Draco's posture and turned the conversation back to himself.

"Well, I was kind of dating Ginny Weasley, but we never really got back together after I left sixth year..." He trailed off, not wanting to recount the year he spent away from Hogwarts or bring up the war. Though, it was increasingly obvious that there were very few non-taboo topics that could be discussed with the Malfoys.

"Ah, yes, that would be a sensible pairing."

Before Harry could respond, a house-elf appeared with a berry trifle and a pot of coffee. It was only after making sure everyone was served that Narcissa continued the conversation.

"Forgive me for being nosy, but is there chance for reconciliation?"

"Well," Harry had kept the idea on the back burner, but as he thought about it, it didn't seem likely. "She was ready to move on with her life and I- I-" Harry choked again, this time on a raspberry.

"Mother," Draco said harshly.

"No, no it wasn't anything you said Mrs. Malfoy. I- I really shouldn't be here."

Harry's heart began to race. He was beginning to feel the tendrils of darkness pulling him, and he made the snap decision that he just couldn't be in the room any longer. He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair. Draco rushed to stand as well.

"I'm so sorry. Thank you for lunch, Narcissa, I just n- need to be going."

He rushed from the room, with Draco hot on his heels.

Harry didn't know how he remembered the way back to the fireplace, but he managed to return to the sitting room without getting lost.

"Grimmauld Place," he sobbed as he threw in the powder.

Moments later, he stumbled out of the fireplace and onto his hands and knees in the middle of his own drawing room. He wasn't entirely sure why he panicked the way he had, but thinking about Ginny wanting to move on with her life and Harry being utterly incapable of it had set him off.

He always thought he wanted to be with Ginny, but more and more he realized he wanted to _want_ to be with Ginny. He couldn't even muster the desire to desire. It was realizations like that which made him so aware of how not okay he was.

"Potter!" Draco's voice filled the room, sounding hollow as it reverberated in the fireplace. "Potter, let me through!"

For some reason, Harry relented, picked himself off the floor and waved his wand, allowing Draco's magical signature to once again come through the wards.

"I'm sorry about mother, Potter. She means well; she just pries."

"It wasn't her, Malfoy. Not really."

"Memories of the she-Weas- uh, of Ginerva get to you?"

"No, Malfoy," Harry said dryly, rolling his eyes at the blond's nickname for Ginny. "Not really that either. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but it was just the idea of moving forward."

"Oh," Draco responded.

"I don't know how," Harry said hoarsely.

"That," Draco began in an equally quiet voice. "That I understand."

"It just seems to be so easy for everyone else. I know it's not. I know everyone else is grieving, but they're still making plans for the future. I've been grieving my whole life, and I'm still not able to move on."

He buried his face in his hands.

"I just want to know what's wrong with me," he said in a muffled voice.

"There's nothing wrong with you Potter," Draco said sincerely. Then, he repeated, "There's nothing wrong."

"Why do you care?" Harry's voice was at a whisper as he raised his head to look at Draco. It was the same question Hermione had asked the blond the week before.

"Because it's not fair for you to save a world you feel like you don't belong in."

Harry's eyes widened with shock at Draco's immediate understanding.

"Maybe that's because I shouldn't be in this world."

"That's the second time you've said that, Potter. Would you care to explain or shall I call St. Mungo's to put you on suicide watch?"

"I don't need suicide watch, Malfoy!" Harry raised his voice.

"Well, it sure sounds like it!" Draco's voiced matched Harry's, and for a second, they were the two boys at Hogwarts who dueled second year and almost killed each other the sixth.

"You just feel guilty because of the life debt." Harry said firmly.

"It's not about the bloody life debt! The war and the aftermath of it have made me question a lot of things, too!" Draco shouted.

Harry trembled. It was then he realized just how exhausted he was. Exhausted from lack of sleep. Exhausted from his thoughts. Exhausted from trying to argue with Draco.

Draco's arms were around him in an instant, holding him up.

"What are you-?" Harry looked down at the arms around him.

"I thought you were going to collapse."

"Feels nice," Harry murmured without thinking.

The only human touch he received on a regular basis were hugs from Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, and it had taken him a long time to get used to being touched even in that way. His upbringing had made him not only emotionally detached, but not overly affectionate either.

Draco stumbled forward slightly, but he got Harry over to the sofa.

Harry still clung to him, and the only option Draco had was to clamor onto the sofa with him. Draco maneuvered himself so he was pressed slouching into the corner of the piece of furniture with his feet still on the floor, while Harry clung to the front of his shirt, burying his face into Draco's chest, his legs curling up toward Draco. He seemed to be over his panic, though, or whatever it was, and instead of going into a trance, he slept.

It became fairly obvious to Draco that Harry Potter had not been sleeping well if he allowed himself to nap while sprawled out against a former Death Eater. Draco decided it would be cruel to move Harry in this state, so he closed his own eyes and leaned his head back. He hadn't been sleeping very well either, and it was... nice, to have someone curled next to him.

When Harry awoke a few hours later, the sun was much lower and he was disoriented. At first he only registered warmth, and then he realized his harder than usual pillow was rising and falling rhythmically. He shot straight up and turned to look right into the steel gray eyes of Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy!" he exclaimed.

"That's my name," Draco said with a smirk, looking down at the disheveled hero.

Harry opened his mouth to retort when Malfoy cut him off.

"You needed the rest," he said simply.

Harry realized Draco wasn't going to mock him or humiliate him in any way. Plus, it was the best sleep he'd gotten all week, so Harry didn't say anything.

"I should be going home. I'm sure mother is worried."

"Right," Harry agreed. "Please extend another apology to her for me. It really wasn't her. It's me."

"She took no offense, Potter. She may be nosy and bold, but she's lived through a lot, too."

Harry nodded and walked Draco toward the fireplace. Draco grabbed a handful of powder, turning to Harry once more.

"Don't think this means you've gotten out of telling me what this 'not belonging in the world' thing is all about."

Harry shook his head, though he had no intention of sharing his obsession with Draco.

Harry didn't sleep that night. His surprisingly refreshing nap while draped across his former rival had sustained him. He spent the night attempting to read, but his mind kept drifting back where it often did, to the eighteen words he always carried with him.

However, thoughts of the new-found insight into one Draco Malfoy seemed to push their way in around Harry's darker thoughts. He really didn't understand why he accepted Malfoy so readily, something about the way the blond spoke to Harry now produced a different reaction in him than anyone else had been able to accomplish since the war.

Maybe because it was the only new thing in his life that wasn't bad, but speaking to Draco Malfoy made Harry feel more alive than he had in over a year.

He tried not to think about what that meant, because all trains of thought seemed to point to having Malfoy in his life.

Later that morning, a gorgeous snowy white owl knocked on Harry's parlor window. It was a note from Narcissa Malfoy.

_I extend a formal apology, Mr. Potter. I did not intend to cause a negative reaction in your person. I do hope you can forgive my behavior._

_-Narcissa Malfoy_

Harry sent an owl back offering his acceptance along with his own apology to both Narcissa and Draco, insisting that there was no wrong-doing on Narcissa's part and thanking Draco for checking on him. He wanted to thank Draco for the best two hours of sleep he had enjoyed in months, but the awkwardness of the situation forced his quill still.

Later that day, Harry went over to Andromeda's house to see Teddy. She had some errands to run, and Harry was more than happy to watch the baby boy for a few hours.

"I really appreciate this, Harry."

"I'm more than happy to watch Teddy anytime."

"I know he won't remember the first years of his life, but he'll know the bond you've formed, taking care of him this way. He's lucky to have you in his life."

"I feel lucky to be in his, too."

Harry contented himself with just watching Teddy gurgle and coo, until it was time for another feeding. The only time the hours flew by was when he was in the presence of his godson.

When Draco stepped through the Floo at Andromeda's house with his Great-Aunt on his arm and her packages in his free hand, they found Harry lying on the sofa with little Teddy asleep on his chest.

The ever-graceful Draco almost stumbled at the sight. Harry looked so peaceful, relaxed, and though the thought troubled him – utterly adorable with the infant sleeping atop him. Andromeda noticed Draco's misstep and the soft, glazed-over look in his eyes, but she said nothing.

"I hate to wake him," Andromeda whispered to Draco.

"Probably best to let him sleep," Draco agreed. "Do you need help with anything, Aunt Andromeda?"

"If you could set those parcels in the kitchen."

Draco did as she asked, then set about preparing tea. As used to house-elves as he was, he wasn't completely incompetent in the kitchen. His aunt sat down with a murmur of thanks, and the two kept their voices low while Andromeda told Draco more stories of his mother when she was a girl.

Once tea time was over, Draco couldn't think of another reason to linger, so he wished Andromeda well and tiptoed back into the sitting room to return home.

Not much later, Harry awoke for the second day in a row on a sofa. However, in this case his companion was a sleeping infant who began to cry as Harry shifted. Harry tried to soothe Teddy, when Andromeda appeared in the room.

"I'm so sorry! When did you get back?" Harry said groggily as he passed Teddy to his grandmother.

"It's all right Harry, dear. The two of you looked so peaceful, we thought it better not to wake you."

"We?" Harry was embarrassed that someone else had caught him napping.

"I ran into my nephew while I was shopping, and he accompanied me home."

Harry blushed at the mention of Draco, thinking about being curled up against his warm body the afternoon before.

"I seem to have developed a rather disturbing sleeping schedule," Harry tried to pull off his embarrassment as related to the nap and not to his memory of the blond.

He stayed at Andromeda's for dinner, but Harry found himself increasingly uncomfortable as the name of Draco Malfoy seemed to come up a lot in conversation. Andromeda didn't know what was transpiring between the two boys, but it was obvious that the stories she had heard of their past rivalry were staying dormant.

Harry didn't sleep for the second night in a row, but this night he had company.

George had called on him around one in the morning, of course finding Harry awake. Harry didn't even wake Kreacher as he prepared a snack and brought out the bottle of firewhiskey he had on hand for this purpose.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," George shook his head. "It was the same one I always have, only this time he faded sooner."

George had a recurring nightmare of his twin. They were running through a maze together, being chased by Death Eaters, and always right before the end, Fred would disappear. Sometimes he was killed by a hex, sometimes his body merely crumpled, but the worst for George was simply when Fred would stop running and simply fade away into nothing.

"I'm sorry, mate," Harry offered genuinely.

"Thanks for taking me in tonight."

"I was up anyway, but even if I wasn't, you're always welcome here."

They both drained their glasses of firewhiskey. Harry refilled them as George spoke.

"How've you been?"

"Oh, more of the same, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, there's the nightmares, the subsequent insomnia, and the words of the prophecy constantly rattling in my skull. But, I think, maybe, I'm sort of friends with Draco Malfoy now."

"Well, that's a development," George's voice didn't hold as much shock as Harry thought was appropriate.

"I guess it's easier to talk to someone who doesn't know everything about me or expect anything from me. You're the only other one who really just lets me be."

George raised his glass in companionship, and he and Harry both took another drink.

"My future sister-in-law thinks I should push you more."

"Hermione," Harry groaned. "I know she means well, but she tries too hard. Puts too much faith in me."

"There's nothing wrong with that, though," George said quietly.

"No, I guess not. It just makes me feel even worse for disappointing her."

"Hear, hear," George said, sloshing more firewhiskey into his glass.

The two continued through most of the bottle, both eventually passing out in the parlor.

They both required a hangover potion the next morning, well, it was more like noon, and George lingered until they heard the voice of Mrs. Weasley calling from the Floo.

"She just loves you," Harry reasoned. "The same way Hermione loves me."

"I know, mate. Listen, I'm sorry that I don't, you know, push you more."

"I'm grateful you don't, George."

"Even so," he said with a shrug, and with a clap to Harry's back he returned home to be put to work doing chores for his mother.

Even after the potion, Harry still felt sick from the firewhiskey, so he went upstairs to try and sleep some of the ill effects off. After tossing and turning for an hour, he finally gave in a took a draught of Dreamless Sleep Potion. Harry didn't like to self-medicate. The numerous trips to Madame Pomfrey in the infirmary during school and the attempt on Dumbledore's life that Ron accidentally imbibed via the poisoned mead sixth year had made him wary of any potions, even those purchased from a trusted source.

Not to mention, he knew that taking a sleeping potion in the middle of the afternoon would only throw his sleeping schedule even further off kilter.

As predicted, when the potion wore off, it was around ten in the evening. Harry felt well-rested, but discombobulated at rising at such an hour. Instead of sitting at his desk, he took to wandering the rooms of Grimmauld Place.

Eventually, he stopped in front of the Black family tapestry that was permanently stuck to the wall. He hadn't done any renovation on the house, though in his better moments he considered it. Somehow it seemed more fitting to keep it as it was – a memory and a tribute to his godfather. Of course, in actuality, it felt more like a tomb. Sirius hated being trapped in this house, and when he passed through the veil, his blood relations didn't mourn. He had been dead to them long before, burned out of their woven lineage by his own mother.

Harry wondered what it was like behind the veil. When he saw his godfather in the woods that day, Sirius seemed peaceful. If death was peaceful, then surely it couldn't be anything bad. He may have been removed from his family's thoughts, but he was permanently fixed in Harry's.

That's all Harry ever would be, too. His name would be mentioned in history books, but he had no family to carry on his legacy. He had no tapestry tying him to a long line of relatives.

He was simply Harry.

The Boy Who Lived.

The Chosen One.

The young man whose legacy had already been complete.

The hours ticked by and Harry sat alone with his thoughts.

His heart was heavy.

He was still lost.

It must have been morning when he heard a voice call out his name. It grew louder as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Potter?" The voice belonged to Draco Malfoy, who finally found Harry sitting on the floor before the tapestry.

"Malfoy? How did you get in here?" The spell of his trance had been broken and he scrambled to stand.

"You didn't put your wards back up to keep me out," Draco said, a smile playing at his lips.

Harry groaned at his carelessness. Not because he wanted to keep Draco out, exactly, but because he usually didn't make such a simple mistake.

"What are you doing here? What time is it?"

"It's half seven, Potter. I've come to have breakfast with you."

Harry rolled his eyes and wondered what Draco's real reason was, but the blond looked so sure of himself, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, that Harry didn't argue.

"Let me at least get my robe," Harry grumbled and padded to his bedroom.

Draco followed Harry silently down the hall and all the way into the room, which drew no objection from Harry, who seemed to take no notice.

"Potter?" Draco approached Harry slowly. "What were you thinking about, sitting there in front of my mother's family's registry?"

Harry was about to make a snide retort, until he looked up at Draco's expression. His gray eyes were soft and held something in them that was more than idle curiosity, something that wasn't like Hermione's pity or George's equal lack of hope. Whatever it was, it made something in Harry break. He plopped down unceremoniously on his bed and placed his head in his hands.

He had no energy or desire to fight with Draco, so he gave in.

"Do you know about the prophecy?"

"You mean the prophecy from the Department of Ministries?" Draco had heard a little about what had transpired from his father, but that had been at the time his father was still a minion of the Dark Lord.

"There was more to it than this, but this is the most important part."

He felt around in his robe pocket and shoved the well-worn piece of paper at Draco.

_...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..._

Draco turned the words over in his mind.

"But you've fulfilled it, Harry. You killed him and survived."

"I didn't really kill him, you know, he killed himself because he didn't know I was master of the Elder Wand," Harry scoffed. "But, that doesn't matter. That's not the only way to read it."

Draco re-read the words slowly. Recognition appeared on his face.

"But that means..."

Harry nodded.

"This could be read to mean that neither of you can live if only one of you does, so how are you...?"

"I died, Malfoy."

"What?"

"Voldemort killed me. With _Avada Kedavra_."

Draco's face read only confusion.

"You know your mother lied to him when she told him I was dead?" Harry continued.

"Yes, but she never told me you actually died! Potter, I don't understand."

Harry pushed his hair to reveal his scar, "Immune to killing curses, remember?"

"Sod off, Potter. It was convincing enough that- that he thought you were dead."

"Well, apparently I mastered death. It may have something to do with the Deathly Hallows, or the fact that I was a Horcrux..."

Draco's frown deepened in misunderstanding..

"Some other time," Harry said with a wave of his hand.

Draco nodded.

"The important thing is that I did actually die."

Draco's face still held disbelief, but it was obvious in Harry's expression that he was being completely honest.

"What was it like?"

"First, my parents were there, and Sirius and Remus. Then, I was at King's Cross Station and Dumbledore showed up. He said it was up to me to return or not. I didn't have to. I could have stayed. Of course, I chose not too, there were too many people, too much riding on me, and I would return again, of course..."

Draco's normally ivory pallor turned ashen, but he stood stock still, waiting for Harry to continue.

"It's just, when nearly all of the people you love are dead. When you know how peaceful death can be. When you don't feel like you belong in the real world. When you don't really have anyone other than your godson and your best friend. When you're down to only having that _one_ best friend because the other can't deal with your depression. When the only other person you have tried to confide in is someone more broken than you. Those prophetic words start to have a different meaning to you."

Harry looked up at Draco then, his gray eyes were clear, but a single tear rolled down his cheek.

"Please," he murmured.

"What are you on about, Malfoy?"

"You can't, Harry. You can't!"

"I told you before, I'm not going to do it. I just think, most days, I think it would be a lot easier if I did, and wait – you called me Harry! You never call me-"

He was cut off then, by an armful of Draco Malfoy, throwing himself into Harry's lap, lips crashing down on his own. The kiss was messy and fervent, and Harry went along with it for a moment. He got swept along in the completely unexpected burst of passion, until a moment later when he realized what was happening.

"Malfoy- Mal- pfft. Draco!" Harry managed to push himself away from Draco. "What are you doing?"

"That's it! This is it! Potter, it makes so much sense now."

"What makes sense now? Malfoy, get off me!"

Draco ignored Harry's request but shifted so his weight was spread more easily, straddling Harry's knees. His eyes began to shine in excitement before he spoke

"Why would I care? Don't you see? At first I thought it was the life debt, but you seemed so flippant about it. If you don't ask me to repay it, then there's nothing I can do. But, I still cared. I still wanted to understand why you looked so haunted. So, I thought it was idle curiosity, nothing more, but even as I found out what was behind your despondency, I still cared. The thought of a world without you, I can't bear it."

"What are you on about?" Harry asked again.

"It's you," Draco murmured, his eyes shining as he looked down at Harry's.

"I don't understand."

"My world doesn't make sense without you."

"This still doesn't explain why you kissed me, or why you're still on top of me. You've always been a part of my world, Malfoy. Rivals, remember?"

"But, we have no reason to be rivals any longer."

Harry finally allowed himself to really look at Draco. At the man behind the haughty features. At the man who cradled Teddy Lupin in his arms. At the man who comforted him after he panicked at the Manor. The man who came back, who listened to Harry's story and never once looked at him with revulsion or pity. The man who wanted to help Harry, independent of any life debt.

"How can you be so sure?" Harry whispered, hoping Draco understood his question.

Draco took a deep breath

"I told you that the war had gotten me thinking about things differently, but I was starting to long before the last battle. I was forced to do terrible things, Potter, you know this, and it ate away at me."

"I know-"

"Let me finish, Potter. I didn't choose to be on the side of the light because I thought it was more right than the other. I know now that it is, and that the beliefs being pushed on me were completely misguided. I chose to do right because of you. I wanted to be your friend from the beginning. It wasn't just because my father insisted on it, or because I wanted to share your fame. There was just something about you that wormed its way under my skin immediately. To think I misinterpreted it all those years as hatred and rivalry."

He shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Draco, I-" Harry began, trying out Malfoy's first name for a second time.

"Don't fight it, Harry."

Then, his lips were on Harry's again.

This time, Harry kissed back. He let himself get lost in Draco's taste and the feel of his warm lips. He brought his hands up to run through Draco's soft hair, no longer slicked back the way it always had been in school.

Draco's hands were wrapped around Harry's shoulders, and he moved one to play with the curling hair at the nape of Harry's neck.

It was Harry who parted his lips first, and Draco's tongue eagerly accepted the welcoming gesture. Harry had never been kissed this way before, not by Cho or even by Ginny. Draco wasn't hesitant, but he wasn't demanding. He pushed forward and Harry pushed back.

It was perfect.

Eventually, they parted, both panting.

Draco leaned back and cradled Harry's face in his hands. He beamed down at Harry, and the only thing Harry could do was beam back.

"Breakfast?" Harry murmured.

"Later," Draco whispered back, closing his lips in on Harry's once more.

This time his lips were gentle, but Draco used his weight to firmly press Harry back onto the bed. He raised himself up so Harry could shift such that he was entirely on the bed. Once he was comfortable, Draco latched his lips onto Harry's neck. Lowering himself back down on top of the brunette.

Harry moaned appreciatively and felt his body respond in a way that had been unfamiliar to him in recent months.

Draco's weight on top of his was warm and inviting, and Harry wondered if this is what it felt like to belong. Draco began to move lower, and Harry was startled out of his comfortable moment when it became suddenly obvious to him that the person atop him was equally as male.

"Draco-" he gasped. "I don't know what I'm doing here. I've never done-"

"Shhh," Draco propped himself up and put a finger to Harry's lips. "This is new for both of us, Potter. Let's just take things slow."

Harry closed his eyes and nodded, once again reveling in the warmth of Draco's body as those warm lips pressed against his collar bone, back up his neck, and once again rejoining his own.

They were suddenly two teenage boys, who had seen too much and lived through too much, but who were throwing aside their insecurities and all the uncertainties about their futures. They were falling into something much greater than either of them had ever expected, both silently agreeing to let the other catch them.

There was no more rivalry.

There wasn't dark and light.

There was a connection of two lost souls finding hope.

They were wrapped around each other in Harry's bed, panting from the breathless exhaustion brought about by little more than kissing, their hearts still swelling.

"So, what happens now, Malfoy?" Harry asked, forgetting he could now call Draco by his chosen name. "How am I supposed to go about surviving?"

"What happens now, Potter, is that we don't survive, we live."

~fin~


End file.
